


Measure of a Man

by Karios



Category: The Rifleman (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode s03e33: Death Trap, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/pseuds/Karios
Summary: "It'll be just like it was ten years ago, McCain."Lucas didn't think so. He remembered more kissing back then.





	Measure of a Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamkist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamkist/gifts).



Simon Battle was the most attractive man Lucas McCain had shot to date. He conceded that could be biased. After all, he wasn't exactly in the habit of evaluating the beauty of whatever, or in this case whomever, ended up in his rifle scope. 

But that night had been different. Mark was in the care of someone he could trust for more than a handful of minutes at a time, and Lucas was a stranger passing through town and well...

Simon had been the one to sidle up to him as he sat at the counter of an unfamiliar saloon, and ask if he "wanted in on a game of cards". Simon had also been the one who looked him up and down as Lucas hopped off the stool to accept the invitation.

Lucas knew what it meant to be looked at like that, to be admired or appraised. He'd been married, hadn't he?

The "thanks" tumbled out of his mouth before he could process what exactly he was thankful for and Lucas stuck a hand out before any further awkwardness could settle in. "Lucas McCain."

Simon clasped Lucas's hand and shook it firmly. The innocuous touch sent pleasant shockwaves up Lucas's arm and down his spine.

"Simon Battle." There was a warmth to his gaze as he said it, and he shot Lucas a half smirk.

* * *

The image of Simon in Lucas's memory bared little resemblance to the cold stare down Battle was giving Lucas now, as his name tripped out over Lucas's tongue.

"What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same thing."

"I live here," Lucas replied and it took him until that moment to realize they were reliving an old conversation, ten years—and one hell of an emotional distance—apart. And this time, he had ended up with all of Simon's lines.

"I thought you were dead," Lucas added, feeling better now that they were off script again. It was unsettling speaking to a man who had been a ghost, a wisp of memory in his head for a decade.

"A lot of people have thought that. You, in particular."

Lucas wasn't sure why he stepped in between Battle and the fallen man. Anyone would be hard pressed to do Stark more harm given his current state, but everything Lucas had learned about Simon Battle since they'd last met made the claim that the man was a doctor truly ridiculous.

"You're no more a doctor than I am," Lucas asserted, and he thought the haymaker Battle landed on his jaw was rather case in point.

* * *

Cards didn't last long. Lucas's mind wasn't on the game, and from the way Simon was playing, either the distraction was mutual or Simon was terrible at cards. Regardless, Lucas found himself cleaned out in his meager buy-in after a few hands. He couldn't afford to lose anymore, so as much as he wanted to linger, Lucas got up from the table.

He thanked the gentlemen for their time and let his gaze linger on Simon, then headed out of the saloon and toward his horse. He was halfway through unwinding the reins from the hitching post—and convincing himself he'd been imagining things—when Simon's voice called out, "Hey Lucas." His long stride caught up as Lucas turned, smiled, wondered.

Simon stepped in close enough that Lucas swore he could feel the heat coming off him. "I was just wondering if you'd had dinner."

"It's probably waiting on me,” Lucas said, cementing himself as some kind of idiot.

“Oh.” A shadow of something like disappointment crossed Simon’s face, and Lucas realized his mistake.

“Any chance you know somewhere more...private?”

“I know a nice creek,” offered Simon. “Follow me.”

* * *

As Lucas pulled himself back to his feet, he shook off both the blow and his memories for the moment. Apparently punching Lucas had settled something for Battle and he saw fit to start ordering Lucas around, as though Lucas would be just as willing to trust him as he’d been to follow him out into the night so many years earlier.

Lucas nearly refused out of stubbornness or bitterness or what he wasn't sure, but Battle knew just how to push. "Do you want this man to die? Or don't you care?"

Of course, _he_ cared. Caring separated the Lucas McCains from the Simon Battles of the world. But as Battle looked over at him, expression open and pain bare in his eyes, Lucas was less sure of the gulf between them.

He fetched towels and water. And when the kids came back, he helped Battle send them away again.

And truthfully, Lucas was glad Battle hadn't wanted Mark and Vicky to stay. Not just because there was enough between the two men that they couldn't say in front of their children, but because you were only so young and full of hope for so long. 

It was easy to remember what big dreams felt like with a glance at Mark's beaming face and with Simon so near.

* * *

They'd talked about dreams way back when, huddled together in the tall, damp grass along the creek bed as they squinted up at the first stars poking their way through the black of the night sky.

“Where you headed Lucas, besides out of Oklahoma?”

Lucas shrugged and the ground squelched underneath him with the movement. “Further west someplace. Get a job, save up, maybe even start a ranch of my own.”

Simon laughed, the sound like a quiet rumble of thunder, but it made Lucas's chest warm. “Those are awful big plans.”

“Yeah. What's so funny about that?” Lucas frowned.

Simon ran a thumb along Lucas's cheek, and the action served to smooth some of the tension out of the younger man's face. “Nothing at all. It's just gunfighters can't afford dreams beyond surviving the next shootout.”

"You're a gunfighter?" Lucas sat bolt upright, and dragged his rifle closer. Simon chuckled again and hooked an arm around Lucas's waist to pull him back down to the ground. 

"Yes," Simon whispered, his breath warm along Lucas's ear and jaw. "If I plan to shoot you, you'll know. Now, do you planned to be spooked about it, or do you want to..."

Lucas's head tipped and claimed Simon's mouth against his own before he could finish the question.

* * *

Watching Simon work, his brow furrowed in concentration, lost to the world, it was easy to keep slipping away into the past. His orders were simple and straightforward and much of the time Lucas was just standing there, waiting.

Was it any wonder Lucas's fingers started to itch to mop at Simon's gleaming forehead? Was it really so surprising he imagined those nimble fingers, not buried deep in a wounded man's chest, but scratching against his own?

The tide of pleasant memories stopped short as Simon's voice tugged him firmly back to the present. "It's always surprised me that something so small can do so much. I've seen men trampled by cattle, thrown, every bone in their body broken and live, but one lead slug, barely an ounce..."

"You put enough slugs in people not to be surprised," Lucas retorted. In truth, the same thought had occurred to Lucas on more than one occasion. But he refused to let Battle have the moral high ground just yet. They both had pasts.

Still, they argued about that somehow, and Lucas heard himself tell Battle to "get on his horse and ride and don't ever come back" even though that wasn't what he wanted at all. Battle had that effect on him.

"This man's life is still in danger, McCain. I've got an obligation. When I'm through, you say that again."

There was a challenge in the words, in the barest hint of a smile that accompanied them. Whether that challenge was to a gunfight or something more complicated, Lucas couldn't be sure and he didn't get time to contemplate it before a pair of Lobo Ranch's less-than-finest were kicking in the front door to the doctor's office.

The threats they offered were plentiful, and though they didn't admit it outright, it was clear that these two or one of their friends waiting in the street were responsible for the man Battle had just patched up. Old grudges or no, there was no way Lucas was about to let some two-bit gunman shoot Battle, nor take the life of the man he had worked so hard to save. Knocking the pistol askew was simple enough and they had enough sense to back off after that rather than force Lucas to pick them off in the doorway.

The tension between Lucas and Simon (and indeed he was back to thinking of him as Simon) seemed to ease after he managed to order the men out and kicked the door shut. A common enemy made it easier to put old ghosts to bed, he supposed.

Simon smiled then, toothy and crooked, as they talked about Lobo and raising children out in this part of the country and were it not for the audience waiting outside, Lucas might have kissed him. But, being caught once was enough.

* * *

Lucas could still remember the way Simon's lips felt, warm and insistent against Lucas’s own, the two of them tucked away against the world. He had been too lonely, too long, and he was pretty sure it was evident in the feverishness of his kisses, the way his hands eagerly roamed beneath Simon's open shirt front. Simon hadn't seemed to mind though.

The world had shrunk around the two of them, but the protective bubble burst when a voice rang out across the night. A simple “Hey!” ripped them both from their private moment. It didn't quite register for Lucas what was happening, not until Simon jerked violently away from him and someone's footsteps drew near. A man Lucas didn't recognize approached the two of them.

Lucas scrambled up out of the dirt. He patted helplessly at his disheveled clothes and hair, reflexively bit his lips.

“What have we here?” the man asked, the too-sweet scent of excess liquor poured off him into the night.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Simon said, giving the man a hard shove for good measure. “Go on home.”

“Looks like I broke up a fight,” the drunk continued, stumbling and falling almost comically on his butt. “Can’t imagine what else you two would be doing all the way out here.”

“What of it?” Lucas asked and Simon glared daggers in his direction.

“Don't stop on my account,” the drunk answered, with a vague wave in Lucas and Simon's general direction.

“Remember how I said you’d know, Lucas?” Simon said, his gaze pointedly directed at the rifle.

“Yeah,” Lucas answered grimly.

Simon looked no happier as he said, “Now.”

* * *

The rest was well-trodden history. Battle had gone for his gun, Lucas for his rifle; Battle’s shot went wide and Lucas’s didn't. Their lives kept turning. Lucas hadn't stopped to consider how a man he’d assumed was dead had survived.

As Vicky returned and pleaded with Lucas to keep her father out of any further danger, she filled in those gaps in Lucas’s knowledge. Angry and afraid, she recounted the story of how her mother had worked herself to a feverish death, her final weeks spent tirelessly repairing the damage Lucas had done. 

Lucas’s heart plummeted to his stomach, as Vicky burst into tears and sank into the safety of her father's arms. While Lucas might not have killed Simon, he’d been responsible for the death of his wife, and for leaving this young lady to grow up without her mother. 

Simon capped off her words with: "I promised my wife I'd become a doctor. Start helping people, instead of what I was."

Earlier today, Lucas had spat on a man's deathbed promise. He deserved a lot worse than a good punch.

"The Marshal should be back soon," Lucas said with a glance into the street, both because it was true and because Simon deserved a way out of this fight if ever a man did. He and Simon were both tied to that promise that made Simon put down his gun, and the least Lucas could do was help Simon honor it.

Spicer and his men had apparently decided they had to go getting impatient. The bullet they shot through the building forced Lucas's hand. The next one could hit Mark, or Vicky. One of them would definitely have to go out there. 

For Lucas, there was no question about who it would be. He'd faced worse odds than four-to-one. Lucas moved to stand by the door, addressing Simon. "You've got a patient to take care of." That he also had a promise to keep and a daughter to finish raising were implied.

"Wait!" Lucas's hand stilled on the knob.

Simon spoke to his daughter: "Vicky, those men want to kill me because I saved this man's life, if I don't defend who I am, then it's all been in vain." Simon gave Vicky instructions that meant little, but left her with something to keep her feeling like she was helping. It said something in how far their roles have reversed that Lucas didn't need to do the same for Mark.

Simon made his way to stand behind Lucas, drawing his fancy pistol from his holster. One backwards glance at him and the gun was enough to make Lucas glad Simon was on his side this time.

"Can I buy you a steak later on?" Or show you the prettiest creek in New Mexico? Lucas added mentally.

"I think I'd like that," Simon agreed and it felt like a promise. They'd both be walking away from this fight and back to their kids.

Gun fire ensued the moment Lucas confirmed Stark was alive and Simon shoved Lucas clear of a shot before he could react. It didn't take long to dispatch with the lackeys after that in a volley of shots. Lucas had been ready to pick off Spicer as well, until Simon declared "he's mine." 

What followed was nothing short of impressive. "Put it away," Simon had ordered, advancing steadily on Spicer. "I'm giving you a chance to live. Put it away." 

Predictably, Spicer had more pride than sense, and Simon had to shoot the gun free. "Satisfied?" Simon asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm not." Simon took the last few steps that closed the distance between them and hit Spicer hard enough to knock him out cold.

Simon turned to Lucas and they searched each other's eyes. It was over. He wanted to say something, anything, but then the moment had gone as Mark and Vicky emerged from Doc Burrage's office.

Even as he hugged Mark close, Lucas watched Vicky. There was hurt and fear in Simon's daughter's eyes. They shone with it, alongside unshed tears. 

The price of fatherhood, Lucas thought, catching the love and guilt in Simon's own gaze even as the doctor turned and fled into the office after his daughter. He gave them both a moment before leading Mark inside.

"I owe you a steak," Lucas said.

Simon released Vicky with another smirk. "That and more, McCain. I believe that makes twice now I've saved your life."

"Twice?" Mark asked, ever inquisitive.

"Never you mind," Lucas answered.

The doctor and the marshal arrived helpfully redirecting the conversation.

"Of course, they missed all the excitement," grumbled Simon.

Lucas laughed. "That's typical for North Fork." Lucas got a round of sour looks and Simon turned his attention to bringing Doc Burrage up to speed.

It was late by the time they get everything straightened out, late enough that by the time they got dinner, there was almost no one to pay attention to the way they were looking at each other. New and old admiration added a charge to the air between them.

"You could stay," Lucas ventured, the words barely above a whisper.

Simon shook his head minutely. "I've made a commitment to Lone Pine. I've got...to be where I'm needed. But if you ever have business out that way..." He let the sentence hang.

"Right."

Simon stabbed a bite of meat, chewing slowly. "Don't wait ten years."

Lucas smiled. "Don't think I could."

**Author's Note:**

> Chances are, canonically speaking, Lucas would have known of Simon's reputation before they met. However, canon also denied us the shippiness we all deserved, so I hope it's a forgivable detail.


End file.
